"But I'm so close," she whines. "Please, Caulter."
I rub her clit in circles as I thrust all the way inside her. And then I stop. I stop because I want to torment her, to bring her to the edge and not let her go all the way. But I also stop because if I move, I'm going to come inside her right now. And I want to savor this.
"Do not come," I warn her, stroking her clit as I begin to fuck her now. Her * tightens around me, and it's all I can do to keep from flooding her with my cum. "Wait until I tell you."
"Then…stop…doing…what…you're…doing," she says. So I thrust harder, over and over until she's calling out my name like it's a mantra.
Caulter.
Caulter.
Caulter.
Then she does it. She arches her back, letting out a loud cry, and she comes without waiting for me. Her muscles squeeze my cock mercilessly, and I close my eyes as she comes, willing myself not to do it.
"Fuck," I scream, pulling out of her just in time to paint her body with my cum as I explode.
Afterward, I look at her naked body, spread out on the table and splattered with my cum like she's a piece of modern art.
She pulls the blindfold from her eyes, her mouth slightly open, her breath still short from her orgasm. "So…"
"So…" I say.
"So we're not having actual dinner, then?" she asks. "Because I'm kind of hungry."
I pick up my discarded apron from the floor and throw it at her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Katherine
My father and Ella are back at the lake house full-time now. The Senate broke for the summer three days ago. Three days ago, the house was turned into a flurry of activity in preparation for the wedding, the house flooded with people: the wedding planner, caterers, stylist, managers, decorators, baker, and my father’s entourage of political advisers.
I’d have expected the wedding to disrupt my father's campaign, but it all seems to fit in nicely. It helps, I suppose, that Ella runs her wedding planning with the same kind of military precision with which my father attacks his re-election campaign.
Caulter and I are no longer just fucking. I mean, we've been fucking. But now we're fucking like rabbits. We've been screwing all the time.
When my father and Ella were still in DC, Caulter made good on his promise to take me in the dining room one night after Rose was gone, spreading me out on the table and burying his face between my legs.
We've had sex outside on the dock in the evening, beside the lake.
In the boathouse.
In the car on the way to get ice cream, and then again when we got back, after Caulter said he couldn’t watch the way I licked the ice cream cone and not want to put his cock in my mouth.
In our rooms -- so many times, in our rooms.
We're having more sex, but it's no longer just sex. Something happened the night of the engagement party, I think -- Caulter became less irritating. He's growing on me. Which is weird.
It's also upsetting. It was one thing when we were sneaking around when our parents were gone, but it's different now that they're back. And that they're getting married. Soon we really are going to be step-siblings, and then what's going to happen?
There's also the other thing I keep thinking about -- and it's all Caulter's fault for planting the thought in my head, the possibility that I really might be able to go to UCLA. Now I keep wondering what would happen if I did.
It's all Caulter's fault for making me feel happy. That's the thing about being happy - it makes you want more of that feeling. And happiness is dangerous, because it never lasts. Life has taught me that much.
I look in the mirror, straightening the stray tendril of hair that refuses to stay in the slick high ponytail. I look like a fucking PTA mom, I think, in my pastel colored suit and nude pumps. Or an Easter egg.
We’re about to go downstairs for an interview, all part of my father’s re-election campaign but not really. It’s a national news station that doesn’t care all that much about the incumbent from New Hampshire who’s predicted to win by a landslide vote; what they really care about is the wedding. And the family drama.
They’re going to want to know all about how Caulter and I are getting along. Luckily, we’ve been prepped. We have stock phrases to use. None of those stock phrases involve we're fucking like rabbits, or his cock makes me so wet I practically drip when I’m near him.
“Hey.” The door from the balcony slides open, and his voice makes me jump.
“Shit, Caulter,” I whisper. “Stop scaring me like that.”
“You look like an Easter egg,” he says.
“I do, don’t I? That’s exactly what I was thinking. Is this orange or pink?” I ask, smoothing the skirt. I think it’s a linen fabric of some kind -- I think I should be playing canasta in Florida in this dress.
“Coral,” Caulter says, walking up behind me and placing his hand on my rear. “It does make your ass look great, though.”